


How to be Commander Shepard

by VivatMusa



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatMusa/pseuds/VivatMusa
Summary: She almost took her hand, too. She wondered what it would've been like, if Shepard had been the person who had woken her instead of Brooks. Brooks had told her once that she was following in Shepard's footsteps. Now she wondered if that would've been such a bad thing after all. Maybe she could've been more than even Brooks had imagined her. Maybe she would've actually had a life.





	How to be Commander Shepard

She's shaking.

Her feet touch the floor for the first time, and the tiles rush toward her. Pressure on her shoulder, catching her, and her feet find their strength. Two dark eyes. She's seen them before, in the pictures. But the pictures were a pale comparison to those irises, a dark brown that melts in the light.

"Do you remember who I am?" The sound rustles in her ear, almost tickling. She could see every blemish of her complexion, the tan of her golden skin, the rosiness brushing her cheek bones.

"M-Maya Brooks," she whispers, feeling tremors in her throat. She licks her lips—wet, still coated in the liquids from her vat.

"Very good." She typed something into her…console. "And do you know who you are?"

Pictures—no, vids—flashed in her mind: a woman, gilded in plated armor, a mouth always pursued in a stern line, with an air that demanded equal shares of respect and fear.

"Shepard."

"Commander Shepard," Brooks corrected. "Do you know your purpose?"

"Ye—" She winced, her hand pressing to her temple. "I—I don't know." An eternity of pictures, of information—meaning, but no understanding, no weight. She had watched what seemed a never-ending dream of Commander Shepard single-handily beating the batarians back in the Skyllian Blitz; Commander Shepard standing tall at the Citadel as she was crowned the first human Spectre; and Commander Shepard buying precious time for Earth by exploding the Alpha Relay. Commander Shepard was strong, a leader.

But she…Cerberus created her for extra parts—a walking refrigerator. What could she be?

Brooks draped something over her, and suddenly she was cocooned in what felt like a summer cloud. She blinked drops of vat fluids from her eyes. Brooks held her gaze, steady. "I rescued you because I saw what you could be: the leader we need. What your twin was supposed to be, before she lost sight of her goal. But you…you can be greater than she ever was."

"B-b-but I don't have her memories. I can't—"

"You will," she said simply, as if it was already fact. "You have her same genetics, don't you? The neural implants gave you the same training, didn't it? Everything else is software, things we can change. Upgrade." Brooks smirked. "Commander Shepard isn't who she is because of how she does things, but what she does. You focus on learning the what, and I'll take care of the rest."

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

Brooks helped her get cleaned up in a shower. None of the pictures had shown her one before. She almost screamed when that blast of water rushed down, cold pellets on her skin. Brooks chuckled and twisted a little knob. Soon wisps of steam curled up against her skin and the tension in her muscles melted.

After the shower, Brooks wasted no time in getting her into the training room. She said she wanted to test her fitness before equipping her; something about a restriction of muscle growth from the vat. Brooks gave her an outfit, and even though she mechanically put her limbs through the proper openings, she couldn't help but be aware of the fabric's weight against her skin and how it bunched in certain places, like under her arms and between her legs. She frowned. If it weren't for environmental factors, she would've preferred nudity then these constrictive garments. Too bad societal norms dictated otherwise.

Once she was in her uniform, Brooks had her run the training room's perimeter—laps, she'd called them. The sensation was strange. She ran, jumped, and sprinted hundreds of miles in the simulations, but to be running with her body, not just her mind was…strange. She felt every cool breath of air rushing in and out of her lungs, the tension in her muscles as she vaulted over an obstacle, the smack of her feet on the floor when she landed, even the strands of her hair that rustled her forehead. The feeling was…amazing. She felt like she had ascended as she soared through the field, no longer confined in a box. This was living.

But eventually it was harder to draw in breaths, and a slow burning crept into her muscles. Her body felt…heavier, as if gravity had increased and was pushing against her. This must be what exertion feels like.

Brooks blew her whistle, and she stopped, kneeling over, her clothes tight on her sweaty skin. "Very good, Commander," Brooks said, striding towards her with a towel and a water bottle. "We'll have you back in shape in no time."

Her arm ached even as she reached for the drink. She gulped it down, the cool water feeling heavenly in her suddenly dry, scratchy mouth. "Careful, now," Brooks chuckled. "You'll rush to the loo in minutes if you drink like that."

But she was distracted by this gnawing ache in her abdomen. It felt…different than the rest of her muscle aches…. Deeper.

She put a hand on her abdomen, almost instinctively. "What…is this?"

"My guess is you're hungry. Your body needs real food now that your system isn't relying on the nutrient fluids anymore." Brooks tapped a map on the wall. "Think you can find your way to the kitchen?"

She paused, before nodding. Memories, pictures of maps and astral bodies tickled the back of her mind, ready to be recalled when needed.

Brooks nodded. "Good. Then wash up, and meet me in the kitchen. I'll make you something."

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

Only after she had been shocked by the cold water again did she realize that Brooks might be testing her. Seeing if her abilities were intact. Her heart beat faster. What if Brooks decided she wasn't? Would she be sent back to the vat? She shuddered, and twisted the knob until hot water melted her skin. But Brooks praised her running, didn't she? She was doing well…wasn't she?

She finished quickly, double-checked the map, then practically sprinted down the halls. Thankfully, Brooks had just started filling a pot with a leafy green vegetable when she entered the kitchen. She tried hard not to look out of breath when Brooks looked at her, smiling. "You do learn fast, don't you?"

She quickly took in the room. It looked like Brooks could make any place her office. Papers were scattered on the counter, guns and rounds and little tools she didn't have words for were peppered in between the spices in a design that was unknown to her but that Brooks could probably understand perfectly. A draft hit her wet skin, and she shivered.

"And you're cold." Brooks nodded to the corner of the room where a small table stood, also littered with folders. "Take a seat. The soup should be done soon."

She felt like little wires were going off at the corners of her mouth, and a warmth grew in her chest despite the shiver of her skin. She hadn't tasted food before, never mind had someone else cook it for her. She…smiled. The expression felt strange on her face—her lips moved, but she felt the smile rise past her cheeks to her eyebrows, too—but not unpleasant. A faint memory went off on her head, something she was supposed to do. Then she remembered. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Don't thank me. You're Commander Shepard. Everyone should be thanking you."

That warmth blossomed when she heard her name—her title—but that heat quickly died when she murmured, "But I haven't done anything yet."

"Oh, you will. It's not a matter of if, only a matter of when," reassured Brooks as she cracked an egg into the pot. "You know, you'll have to learn how to read your body. You can't command others if you can barely handle yourself."

"How long will it take?" she asked, the corners of her lips pulling down.

"Not long, with the way you're catching on."

Right, she thought as Brooks put a bowl of steaming soup in front of her. She'll learn. Then she can repay Brooks.

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

Her eyes squinted in the light, harsh in the metal walls of the training room. They weren't so blinding the first time she had practiced. Barriers about waist-high were set up, with some higher structures for different lines of sight that gave her eyes some relief. "Brooks, why is it so bright?" she asked.

"You have to train under extreme circumstances, Shepard." the intercom informed her.

"But... I've never shot like this," she said, looking at the rack of guns on the walls. The implants had taught her how to use several types of weapons, but her preferred was the shotgun. She was pleasantly surprised to see her favorite M-11 Wraith on a rack. She thought that Brooks would've given her a pistol, her twin's preferred weapon. Her fingers traced the sleek barrel of the gun and the golden bump of its muzzle brace. She gripped its frame, surprised at the weight in her hand. The simulations may copy the kickback and sounds of the gun, but couldn't capture the feel of it. "I've never shot anyone, not really," she muttered under her breath.

But Brook's voice was confident. "The Commander wouldn't hesitate. And you are the Commander."

"Right." But her thoughts were less sure as she leveled her gun at the target.

Am I? she wondered. I'm not a great hero, as far as I know. I can't do all this stuff. But as soon as the simulation appeared, the difference between the real gun and the fake gun didn't matter—the details were only extras, novelties. Software. The gun went off before she even realized her finger had twitched. The kickback was instant. Muscle memory kept her from stumbling, but she was surprised at the force of the jerk as the faint smell of metal and smoke and chemicals stung her nose.

"Very good, Commander!" Brooks praised her.

This time she didn't thank her. Compliments were for when someone exceeded their expectation. She was just meeting hers.

Brooks said I need to take back my identity. She automatically reloaded her gun. Her training kicking in as she spotted a simulation, her fingers already adjusting the iron-sights. I was engineered to be great. I will be great. I owe that to Brooks.

She pulled the trigger.

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

An Eclipse base generated in the practice room. Her muscles might still be building, but they remembered the eternity of simulations her mind had put them through. Any awkwardness from transitioning between simulations to real objects was gone as the Commander made swift work of cleaning the place out. Without taking a hit but delivering many in return, she made her way to a side room. She had barely opened the door when a voice squeaked, "Don't shoot!"

That was new.

Simulations didn't typically talk unless they were screaming threats of destruction. Usually seconds before she shot them in the head. The Commander opened the door slowly, barrel first. An asari hologram was cowering behind a barrier. Unlike the other simulations, this one didn't take a shot. Instead, the asari dropped her gun and kicked it over to her. Her arms covered her face as she looked up at her with an expression of terror that was surprisingly human. "Please! I haven't killed anyone! I'm not a Sister yet!"

The Commander hesitated. This was a test, clearly. But for what? If the asari was lying, she was as bad as the rest of the scum here. But if the asari was telling the truth, then her hands were unstained, and she wasn't a threat. Was that what Brooks wanted to see? If she was willing to diminish any chance of a threat, even at the expense of an innocent life?

Her finger curved around the trigger. The asari winced, backing up against the wall as far as she could. She might've been a thousand years old, but she looked like a little girl.

The real Shepard wouldn't fire without certainty.

Fuck. The Commander flicked her head. "You'd better be gone on the count of three, or be caught in the explosion. One—"

But the hologram blinked, then was gone. The lights flicked on and the interface was extinguished from the room, leaving behind the stark barriers. "No!" Brooks yelled over the intercom, her voice the angriest she had ever heard it. "She could've shot you as soon as you walked out the door!"

Brooks had never stopped a simulation early before. The Commander slowly lowered her gun. "Commander Shepard wouldn't shoot if she doubted herself." She somehow managed to keep her voice steady even though her heart hammered against her chest.

"The true Commander Shepard is a fool," snarled the voice. "And it looks like your following in her footsteps."

The Commander tensed. "She…this happened to her, too?"

"Yes. Want to know what happened when she made the stupid mistake of letting that alien go? She found out the bitch lied, and had not only killed someone—but bragged about it to her friends. That's the mistake Commander Shepard, even Cerberus, made. That's what trust gets you. A knife in the back."

The intercom went silent.

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

For the rest of the day, the only comment Brooks would say to her was a curt correction to "favor her right leg." Brooks ignored her otherwise. Whenever she was in the same space with her, Brooks would refuse to look at her, keeping her head buried in whatever work she was doing. She didn't lock herself in her room or anything. No. She was realizing that the entire base was Brook's room. And there was nothing there that was hers.

So, she stormed to her own quarters and stared at the bare metal walls. Only since she had gone through other simulations did she realize that not having any decorations in one's bedroom was…impersonal.

Not normal.

It was something she had been realizing for a while now. But she made sure not to let Brooks see how much the difference bothered her. That's what Brooks would've wanted, to see her stoic. Like the true Commander Shepard.

But she didn't know what that meant. Not really. She was still just a shadow of the real thing. With a sigh, she turned on her console: the only thing that was hers. Though, knowing Brooks, it was probably bugged.

The neural transplants had taught her how to fight, and the vids had shown her the moments where Shepard had launched humanity forward with an iron will. But she wasn't interested in that. What she wanted to see were the moments that Shepard wasn't fighting.

Brooks had set up censors against certain videos, but she wasn't the only one who had been working on her coding. Cerberus still had the dossiers Brooks had organized for the mission against the Collectors. She remembered how she had vented about the humiliation of Cerberus going to the aliens for help.

But judging by Cerberus' reports, Shepard had no qualms. At every turn, she supported the aliens. Earned their loyalty. And they repaid it. Each member, from that mutant-baby of a Krogan to even a full-fledged Justicar, had followed her into what could only be called a suicide mission. Even Miranda, one of Cerberus' most loyal operatives, had taken Shepard's side.

She didn't understand.

Shepard demanded them to abandon what she was supposed to hold most dear: duty. She had turned Garrus away from a respectful position of law and order to the demotion of a burnt-out, wannabe vigilante. And then there was Miranda. Sure, Cerberus might've turned into brainwashed fanatics, but at least Miranda had them eating out of her fingertips. She was respected. Powerful. And now her loyalty to Shepard was repaid with a life on the run, always looking over her shoulder.

That's what friendship gets you, apparently.

And yet each one of them abandoned their responsibilities to fight in a battle with the odds staggeringly against them. Because they trusted Shepard. Everything in her training screamed wrong! Couldn't they see that Shepard was leading them to their own destruction?

So what if they pulled off their suicidal mission, the one that Shepard manipulated them into doing. It's not like it did any good. Sure, some wise guys might've helped, but what good were a handful of exhausted civilians when their own governments refused to open their eyes when whole colonies were being destroyed? Only when the attacks were at their front doors would the aliens pay attention.

Shepard was supposed to be what Cerberus was: humanity's champion. She was supposed to put them above all others. She was supposed to be the one that made the hard decisions no one else could, for the betterment of her people. Not play the peacemaker between aliens who wouldn't lift a finger if Earth was destroyed.

But again and again, Shepard let her ties to the galaxy make her blind to the people she had left behind on Earth. The damn Council had denied her help every step of the way, and yet she saved them at the expense of the human lives who had supported her since the beginning. And the Krogans. If Shepard had it her way, she would let the Krogans rampage again. It was what they did best. While even she could see that Wrex had the potential of lifting the Krogans out of their rubble, it was a fragile peace that would shatter if he were to fail or die, the same as any monarchy. Even if humanity did survive the Reapers, how could they face the resurgence of Krogans when the Council had to beg the turians—the newcomers—to save them during the Rebellions? And yet Shepard would take that risk. Not only would she undermine the safety the genophage guaranteed them from the Krogans, but she betted humanity's life on her decision.

The turians had the right idea. You don't go to war to stop an enemy. You go to war to cut them off at the knee so they could never fight again.

And that's what she planned to do. She wouldn't have to play the peacemaker. She'd make sure the Reapers paid for what they did. Her force of will would exceed even Shepard's.

It was better that way. The more people you have around you, the more you lose sight of your goal. But she wouldn't.

She would be the Commander Shepard that humanity needed.

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

The Normandy generated around her, sparks of light attaching themselves to the room until they formed consoles, war tables, and crew members, frozen in place in their work stations. "This simulation is designed to test your cognitive retention and social abilities," informed Brooks over the intercom, her voice curt. Professional.

Commander Shepard nodded. "Ready."

As if a switch had been flipped, the Normandy hummed to life. Crew members were tapping at their terminals. One of them, a woman with red hair and full lips, approached her. The yeomen, she guessed, judging by her position close to the commander's personal terminal. "No new messages, Commander," she said with a salute.

"Very good," replied Commander Shepard almost automatically.

But the woman pursed her lips, and Commander Shepard paused. Her mind filtered through simulations of body language, analyzing the tilt of the woman's head, the direction of her eyes. "Something on your mind, shipman?" she asked.

"Funny you should ask, Commander," the woman replied. "On the last shore leave, I was chatting with some colleagues. One of them had a brother on Elysium when you repelled the batarian slavers. You've done a lot for the galaxy besides that, of course, but she wanted me to let you know how grateful she is for saving her brother."

"No thanks necessary. I was just fulfilling my duty," Commander Shepard said, following the script in her head.

"Oh, I know, but I'm amazed at how you were able to win at such a disadvantage. How did you do it?"

Ah. There it was.

"It's all knowing how and when to strike," she replied, crossing her arms. "I knew I was outnumbered and outgunned, so I rallied the civilians together. I just had to order them into the right positioning for the optimal effect, and then it didn't matter how many guns or numbers we had. The aliens didn't stand a chance."

"Weren't you worried about the civilians, though? They didn't have any military training."

"They had their lives and families at stake. They were willing to risk anything, and that motivation is what gets the job done."

"Wow. It sounds like something out of the newest season of Immortal Tales," the woman said with what seemed almost like a sigh. The commander tried not to let her confusion show as the woman prattled on. "When all the heroes band together for the last hooray… Wasn't Ross just amazing in that last speech he gave his shipmates. So inspiring."

"Right..." Commander Shepard shifted her weight onto one hip. She sifted through information about previous wars and battles, but no names such as 'Immortal Tales' came up. But she had to say something. The Commander had to be adept at traversing any situation. "Ross…he's very…inspiring. Can learn a lot from a man like him."

"Ross is actually short for Rosaline." The woman smiled, but it was a small, uncomfortable one that made Commander Shepard frown. "I'm sorry, Commander, I didn't know you haven't watched the show before."

Commander Shepard narrowed her eyes. Was she really talking about…television?

"It's all the rage back on Thessia. It's about these asari musicians trying to publish their album despite the pressures of—"

"I know the show," snapped the commander. "Don't see why you bother to talk about it, though, when you have work you should be doing instead."

"Understood, Commander," she said, her tone dropping as she turned back to her terminal.

The rest of the simulation passed uneventfully as she toured the main deck. Eventually, she heard a beep, and the interface blinked out. Instead of a voice over the intercom, the doors opened, and Brooks strode in.

"I think I just improved productivity by ten percent." Commander Shepard smirked. "That was a joke."

"Yes, and I believe you just increased the rate of social awkwardness twofold, as well." Brooks frowned, her eyes cold with disappointment. "Small talk may not seem important, but it's a skill you should learn for your crewmates."

Commander Shepard's smirk twisted into a scowl. She didn't speak to her for a day, and now she decided to open her mouth? "What does it matter to my crewmates if I can blather on about nothing when there's a war going on? What matters should be my results."

"Well, right now, your results are far from the real Commander Shepard's. She can at least carry on a topic for more than two turns before throwing a tantrum."

"Watch it," she snarled.

Brooks' eyes widened in surprise, but she kept her expression as calm and in control as ever.

Commander Shepard felt heat rush from her chest to her face. Her fists clenched, and she marched up to Brooks until their noses were inches apart. "I've aced all your tests. Every simulation you've put me up against, I've mastered. I've met—no, exceeded every expectation that meant something. I'm Commander Shepard here, and I'm in charge. If anyone gets in my way, they're getting crushed under my heel."

Brooks didn't bat an eye. Instead…her lips curved up into a smile.

"Yes, Commander."

"Commander Shepard."

"Yes, Commander Shepard. Understood."

She backed up, her lips curled into a grin. "Good. Now go find me a way to throw that wannabe twin out of commission.

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

Commander Shepard might've acted confident, but as soon as the doors closed and Shepard and her squadmates were trapped behind them, she felt her facade crack. Her stomach soured, and her right leg ached from her limp.

"Keep it together," hissed Brooks, glancing at her, measuring. Always measuring.

"I know," she growled back, striding faster to the Normandy. Her ship. She was finally coming home. Shouldn't she feel excitement? Happiness? Wasn't that expected?

And yet she couldn't release her fists. Heat burned through her chest, the one emotion she could recognize: anger. Burning anger flared at Brooks for not having told her sooner about her non-identical fingerprints. Life shapes those, apparently. Not that she—a clone—would know. She grinded her teeth. Shepard, the sympathizer of sex toys, had no right to judge.

Shepard.

She had imagined meeting her "twin" millions of times since her awakening. She had spent countless days watching her, memorizing her posture, her tics, her every fucking 'I should go's." Anger, condescension, pity. Those were the feelings she had expected to experience. Not...not this shaking mess.

When she saw Shepard face-to-face...her harsh lip, her strong jaw, even that quirk of her eyebrow when she was surprised, the same one that Brooks would tease her about. It was all a confirmation that she was really built for her.

And yet they couldn't be more dissimilar.

Yes, they were twins of appearance, but that was the end of the similarities. She could see hear it in Shepard's voice, ringing with an assured confidence that only a life of hard decisions and experiences could weld. Shepard had managed to unite individuals as disparate as the sun and the moon. Each of her squadmates stood by her, tall and strong. They didn't look manipulated or subjected. If anything, they didn't have a shred of doubt in their leader. They laughed, tossing jokes to another as if this was a circus. They were a testimony of Shepard's philosophy that every life mattered.

The final doors opened, and the Normandy stood before her in all its sleek glory.

But Commander Shepard would show her twin what a waste her philosophy was.

l*l*l*l*l*l*l

As she dangled off the ledge by only her fingertips, she felt like she was in the tank again, swimming in eternity. She knew she had lost when she saw Brooks' face, torn with what looked like regret. She couldn't tell if it was for her, the human life she had raised, or for herself. In the end, it didn't matter. She was left behind again, while everyone else was willing to die to save the real Shepard.

But then Shepard reached for her. "Give me your hand."

She was baffled. There was no strategic reason, no secret angle to justify keeping her alive. Otherwise Brooks would've been the one holding out her hand like she trusted she would've.

No. Shepard was saving her because she thought it was the right thing to do.

For the first time, she understood who Commander Shepard was. She never received an answer on what made Shepard so special, but she already knew. It was the fact she had been denying all along: Commander Shepard was who she was because of how she did things. Brooks was wrong.

Guess there were some things you couldn't teach, after all.

"And then?" she bit out, her words almost torn away by the wind. She knew her arms should be aching by now, but if they were, she couldn't feel it.

Shepard quirked an eyebrow, as if unable to believe her hesitation. "And then you live." Shepard reached for her, her eyes mirroring her own.

She almost took her hand, too. She wondered what it would've been like, if Shepard had been the person who had woken her instead of Brooks. Brooks had told her once that she was following in Shepard's footsteps. Now she wondered if that would've been such a bad thing after all. Maybe she could've been more than even Brooks had imagined her. Maybe she would've actually had a life. What a different galaxy that would be.

But in this one, she was still just a spare part.

"For what?" she almost laughed. They had copied her DNA by the atom, and yet there was still only one Commander Shepard. And she wasn't it.

The clone let go.


End file.
